Last Respects
by Chromatoast
Summary: Johnny and Retta were meant to spend eternity together. Too bad Retta's "daddy" and her beloved Johnny just can't see eye to eye. Short, sweet, sad, and sick, with plenty of melodrama! Pre-MH Johperetta fic. Written for fiddlestringsandpianokeys. Inspired by a story from EC's classic "Tales from the Crypt".
1. Chapter 1

Johnny pushed through the cemetery gates, their screams of protest falling on uncaring ears. He glanced back at the dark and empty road before turning to face the headstones, casting his eyes over them, wondering.

"Hang on, Retta. I'm comin'," he said, his grip tightening around the paper bag clutched to his side, hesitating.

He moved up the grassy path, past weatherworn and unsteady graves from a century ago, stumbling over fragmented headstones hidden in the undergrowth. He paused every few minutes, scanning the stones, searching. He ran one hand through his slicked-back hair, sighing. "Aw, help me out, doll. Show me where you are."

Cresting the little green hill, he caught sight of a stately mausoleum, cold and white in the light of the full moon. It loomed over the gravestones, majestic, imposing, contemptuous. A flicker of hope flared in his heart and he moved closer, stumbling down the incline.

Still a few yards distant, he could make out the letters cut into the gleaming marble over the doorway.

" 'Destler'," he read, nodding to himself, and broke into a light jog. "That's gotta be it."

He ran up to the mausoleum and paused, staring up at the name as he ran one hand over the engraved design of ivy and roses on the door. He leaned against the cool marble, silently praying the door wouldn't be locked. It slid inward under the pressure of his body, silent on well-oiled hinges, and he laughed to himself in the darkness.

"Thank God." He stepped into the sanctuary, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

The casket stood in the center of the floor, a box of polished black walnut with cherrywood trim and silver fixtures. He could see it in more and more detail as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, as if it were being revealed from beneath a gauzy veil. When he could see the faint gleam of moonlight reflected on its silver handles, grief overwhelmed him. He threw himself over the box, unable to stop himself from weeping.

Scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his leather jacket, Johnny stood back, reaching into the paper bag still clutched in one hand.

"Here, sweet thang. I brought this for you. I know you.. wanted to keep it.. Thought you might like it to sleep with."

From the bag he drew a squat, badly made stuffed skeleton, a body of black fuzz painted over with round-edged bones. Its rictus grin leered at him. He held it against his cheek for a moment, then laid it atop the coffin.

"You remember when I won this for you, baby? Just a few weeks ago. I never woulda thought.. you'd be.."

Johnny gave a trembling sigh, then, running his hands along the edge of the shining black-and-red box, he pulled at the lid. It remained sealed shut.

Frustrated, he pounded a fist into the box's lid. "It's no good this way, Retta. You can't feel it.. out here.."

He stared at the gleaming black wood, his memory drifting back as he muttered aloud. "Man, we sure had a good time that night? Remember, Retta? You wanted to go on everything.. even the merry-go-round.."


	2. Chapter 2

Johnny laughed as she pulled him towards the carousel, her carefully coiffed red hair bouncing behind her shoulders. "If you wanna ride, you got horses back home!"

"Not like these ones, silly!" He stumbled over the edge of the platform, sitting sideways in the saddle of a black stallion in red and gold tack. Retta nudged his knee with her own, watching him as the merry-go-round began to turn and loud calliope music blasted out from behind the mirrors. " 'Sides, I'd rather ride a painted pony with you than any one of my daddy's fancy racin' types."

He grinned. "Sure you're backin' the right horse? I'm nobody's favorite."

"You are too." She leaned across the distance between them, one hand on the pole holding her horse to the floor, and kissed him. Her lips were soft and full against his, and he moved towards her, one hand reaching for the small of her back. The kiss broke as Retta was pulled away by the horse's upward movement.

Johnny watched her for a long moment and she laughed at the expression on his face. "I'm gonna get you the best prize on the Midway," he said, standing up off his stallion. The ride slowed to a stop beneath their feet. He grabbed onto her arm, jogging towards the barkers beyond the delicious-smelling food vendors.

"Pick a prize," he said, gesturing to the dozen tents around them, each one with an assortment of stuffed animals and toys hanging from their eaves. "Anything you want."

"Johnny, you don't have to buy me nothin'."

"I'm not buying it for you. I'm gonna win it. Fair and square." He reached down, slinging an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. "Just like I won you."

She smacked him in the chest, pulling away, but she was smiling. "I'm not some prize to be won, Johnny. Ooh - look at that cute little skeleton!"

"Yeah?" He looked up, scanning first the big stuffed animals, confused. Then he spotted it, hanging above a stall where a pyramid of bottles stood at the far wall. He laughed, looking down at her. "That one? It's so little! Come on, doll, give me a challenge!"

She shook her head, her blue-purple eyes sparkling up at him. "Nope. I like that one." Playing along, she batted her eyes and said, "You think you could get that for little ol' me?"

He chuckled, giving her another squeeze, and walked up to the booth. "No problem," he said, handing a dollar to the pot-bellied barker in the stall.

The first baseball went wide, striking the back of the tent, but the second ball hit the wooden bottles square center, knocking off the top three. He reached for the third ball, then turned just as Retta stepped up beside him and threw it. She hit the base of the pyramid, knocking one battered wooden bottle sideways into the cloth folds of the tent, and the rest collapsed over the barrel and onto the dirt floor.

The barker laughed, taking down the fuzzy skeleton as Johnny pointed it out. "Here you are, Dead-Eye!"

"Thanks," he said, grinning, and passed the doll to Retta. She leaned into his side, hugging him. "For you, Retta."

"Aw, Johnny." She held it to her chest, squeezing it, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Just what I wanted."


	3. Chapter 3

Johnny switched off the radio, his eyes darting from the road to Retta at his side.

"You'd better get in back, Retta. We're almost to the house."

"It's not fair. I'm gettin' real sick of this," she said, pouting, plucking at the fur of the fuzzy skeleton doll.

He stopped the limousine, stepping out, and she walked around the car to meet him. Johnny opened the rear door for her, slipping his arms into his brass-buttoned chauffeur's coat. She sighed up at him, adjusting the tilt of his patent-leather cap.

"When can we do this again, Johnny?"

"The car is always at your disposal, Miss Retta."

She smirked even as sadness stole across her face. "Don't you joke with me. Oh, Johnny, gimme a kiss! Tell your wife you love her!"

He couldn't suppress a smile. "I love you, Retta," he said, leaning close, and the metal frame of the rear door pressed between them as they kissed.


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny startled out of his reverie as a clap of thunder shook the mausoleum walls. A gust of hot wind blew through the building, slamming the door shut, and above them the rain began to fall.

"It's raining, Retta. Remember the storm we had that night.. the night you came to my room above the garage?"

It had been two weeks ago. He was in his tiny apartment, in his shirtsleeves and a well-worn pair of jeans, listening to Tony Bennett crooning "Cold, Cold Heart" as he ironed his dress pants for the next day, when the door burst open and Retta came in.

"Retta! What are you doing here?"

"I can't stand it any longer, Johnny!" She looked up at him, her face tearstained and smudged. He turned off the iron and the radio, pulling a kerchief from his pocket, holding it out to her. "We've got to tell my daddy," she said, her voice quavering as she wiped her face.

He shook his head, brushing wet strands of hair from her face. "Baby doll, you know he would disown you. Just be patient, please!"

"I don't care!"

"Retta, you don't know what you're saying! He'd cut you off, not a penny to your name. If we can be strong, just hold out until the old buzzard dies - "

"Phooey," she said, throwing the kerchief down. He picked it up, trailing her as she began to pace the room, arms crossed. "He won't never die. He's about as old as dirt, Johnny, and I just can't stand bein' so close to you and so far away at the same time. It ain't fair! We ought to be together, like husband and wife, like we're s'posed to be!"

Johnny seized her arms, pulling her close against his chest as she started to cry again. "Retta, darlin'... You're underage. He can annul the marriage."

"He wouldn't dare!"

He kept quiet as she sobbed, holding her close. The storm outside raged, wind whipping the trees against the windows, howling through his drafty room, but they were oblivious in one another's arms.

"You oughta go, Retta. Your daddy will be lookin' for you."

"Oh, I know.." She stroked his face, staring into his eyes. "Just one more kiss before I go?"


	5. Chapter 5

Operetta hurried across the sopping grounds, the taste and feel of Johnny's last kiss still warm on her lips as the cold rain soaked through her flimsy dress. By the time she reached the door she was soaked and dripping, shivering, and when she swung the door open there was Daddy, glaring at her from the shadows beside the stairwell, his eyes glistening like silver.

"Where were you?"

She flipped her sopping hair from her face, unable to meet his gaze. "I went out for a walk, is all. I got caught in the rain.."

"Don't lie to me," he said, his voice a cold, threatening whisper, rising in temperature and intensity as he spoke. He rose, moving towards her. "It's been raining for hours. I saw you come across the lawn, Retta. You've been to the garage. To him! I know! I've seen the way he looks at you! Don't think I'm blind! Don't think I don't know you've been carrying on with him behind my back!"

"Stop it!" she sobbed, staring him in the face, defiant despite her pain. "Stop it, daddy! Ooh, I just can't stand you sometimes! If you must know..." She took a deep breath, straightening further, leaning towards his looming form. "If you MUST know, we're married!"

"What?" he spat, aghast. "Married to that.. that.."

"Yes! And I don't care what you say! I love him! That's all that matters!"

His lips peeled back from his teeth in a predatory sneer. "You fool! I'll have the marriage annulled!" He reached out, skeletal fingers encircling her arm, and she tried in vain to pull out of his grasp. "I won't let you throw your life away, Retta! Not after all I have done.. not after how hard I have worked to save you!"


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny knocked at the front door a third time, hearing the echo within the drafty old mansion, turning his hat in his hands.

At long last, the door creaked, opening just enough to allow him to see the shadowed face of Erik Destler. "Go away," the old man hissed. "You're not wanted here."

"Mr Destler, sir.." Johnny moved forward, jamming his foot into the opening of the door just as Erik attempted to slam it shut. They glared at one another. "Please," Johnny said, and in a rush, without thinking, he said, "I'm her husband, Mr Destler!"

"You won't be for long! I've started annulment proceedings." Erik's eyes, two faintly glowing yellow points in the darkness beyond the door, narrowed at him. "You know she's underage."

"Please!" Johnny dropped to one knee, hands outstretched. "Let me see her, Mr Destler. I.. I love her! Don't you understand?"

"Perfectly." Erik kicked Johnny's shoe out from the foot of the door and slammed it shut in his face.

* * * * *

Johnny paced before the steps for hours. He watched the doctor arrive, exchanging a hopeful look with him as he entered the house, and then pressed him for information as he left.

"How is she, doc?"

"She's failing, Johnny. Doesn't seem to want to live!"

* * * * *

Retta lay in her bed, gasping for air, her eyes puffy and sore from crying. "Johnny," she said, as her father moved through her room to look out the window. "I.. I want to see Johnny."

"No." Erik looked down to where the young man sat on the steps, head in his hands. "You're finished with him. Finished!"


	7. Chapter 7

Johnny shook his head as the police car rolled to a stop in the Destler's driveway. He got to his feet, holding up his hands, sure that old man Destler was watching the spectacle from some window in his gigantic house.

Billy left the vehicle, shame-faced, and walked towards him. "You've got to get off the property."

"Billy, he's got Retta locked up in there, all right? He's refusing to let me see her. I just want to see if she's okay. D'you think maybe you could talk to him?"

Billy sighed, scratching at his scalp beneath his cap. They both turned as another vehicle rolled into the drive. A moan escaped Johnny, and he ran for the front door just as Billy caught him around the waist and pulled him back.

"Johnny. Johnny, you gotta calm down, you hear me? I don't want to have to bring you in for this!"

The mortician left the hearse and walked up the steps, followed by several strong young men with a wicker coffin, all watching them, wary and curious.

Johnny shoved Billy away, staggering, then collapsed onto the steps. "She's dead! He's killed her, don't you see?"

"Pneumonia," said a firm voice from the doorway, and both Billy and Johnny looked up to see the thin, impeccably dressed Mr Destler, lingering just inside the open doors. "My daughter died of pneumonia, Mr Esprit, which she contracted after an extremely ill-advised walk in the rain." His eyes bored into Johnny, a crooked and cruel smile on his pale lips. "If anyone is to blame, Mr Esprit, I believe it would be you, as you enticed her to leave the house that evening, did you not?"

Johnny turned to look at Billy, who was now regarding him with no small amount of suspicion. "I.. I didn't.. I had no idea.."

"Well?" said Billy, taking a step closer as Johnny got to his feet. "Is that true?"

"Go on," said Erik, his smile relaxing onto his face. "Tell him about your relationship with my daughter."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. He pointed a finger at Erik, his voice a low growl. "I will get you for this, Mr Destler. As far as I'm concerned, you're the one who killed her, and I will avenge her death!"

The mortician and his lackeys left the house, moving past Erik, carrying the white wicker coffin between them. As they moved down the steps Johnny ran forward, stopped again by Billy's strong arms around his midsection.

"Retta!" he cried, as they opened the back of the hearse and shoved her temporary coffin inside, as Erik watched in grim silence from the doorway. "I'll be with you soon, darlin'! Don't you worry! Retta.. I love you!"


	8. Chapter 8

"The funeral," Johnny said, reaching out to stroke the black walnut box. "I could just see it from my car, out on the side of the road. But I knew he wouldn't let me get any closer. Even with you dead, your daddy couldn't stand to think of us together.

"So I went back to the house, darlin', and I waited. Your daddy didn't come home for a few hours.

"Remember when we first met, and you told me about all the time you spent takin' care of your daddy? Yeah, well.. I took care of him, Retta. I took real good care of him. He was a whole lot stronger than I thought he'd be, but I didn't give in. I had to do it. For you, Retta. For us.

"Just wish I'd done it sooner.. while we could still be together..."

He shook his head, a rueful half-smile creeping onto his face. "But we still have eternity, right?"


	9. Chapter 9

Johnny looked up at the sound of running water, noticing a thin stream of rainwater running down the mausoleum's stone walls. It hit the floor and dribbled under the casket, pooling around its base.

"I guess this is goodbye," he said, stroking the box once more. "I've got to hit the road. Pretty sure they're gonna be lookin' for me now. God, I wish I could see you once more. I promise, baby doll, I'll come back someday!"

Wiping at his eyes, Johnny walked to the door, giving it a tug. It didn't budge. He grunted, pulling against it harder, but it did not move. The mausoleum door was locked.

He turned, staring at the coffin, horror breaking over him. "Oh, God, no.."

Johnny pounded on the door, hoping someone, anyone, would hear the banging and come investigate. "Help! Help me, somebody! Please.. let me out!"

His cries were drowned out by a roll of thunder. He beat at the metal door until his fists were bruised and bloodied, sobbing, calling out for help.

"I'll starve to death! Please.. God.. someone..."

Outside, the rain continued to fall, forming rivers between the headstones.


	10. Chapter 10

The horrid, pungent, irritating smell filled Johnny's senses. His nose, mouth, throat, stomach all burned. Dizziness overcame him, knocking him to the floor, and it felt like a century passed before the pain ebbed and he could sit up.

He stared at the box in the darkness. He could make out shadowy figures filling the room, their whispering voices hushed, their eyes glinting at him.

"Johnny Esprit?" said a severe female voice, and he nodded, struggling to his feet. "How do you plead?"

"What.. what's going on?" He squinted, trying to see faces, but could only make out vague shapes in the dark. He looked down at himself, only a little surprised to see an exact duplicate of his own body crumpled at his feet. He touched his head and looked around in confusion. "Am I dead?"

"How do you plead?"

"Where's Retta?" He turned, spinning, still trying to see clearly the dozens of people crammed into the tiny, stinking mausoleum. "Retta, honey, are you here? It's all right, doll, it's me, Johnny!"

"How do you plead?"

Johnny faced the voice, glowering. "Guilty, God damn it! I know what I did but I.. I had to.. Retta, honey, can you ever forgive me? I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry for everything!" He moved towards the voice, reaching out, and his fingers clasped something thin and wispy like a silken shroud. "Please.. just tell me where she is. Where can I find her? Will I see her again?"

"Johnny Esprit," said the voice. "For the crimes of murder in the first degree and the defiling of a corpse, we the Night Court find you guilty.. and sentence you to three thousand years in an approved detention facility."

"Three thousand.." Johnny laughed. "You gotta be kiddin' me! There's no way I can -"

"Time means little to the dead," said the voice, both gentle and sad. "It can be bent and twisted in any way to suit us. Your sentence begins now."

"No," said Johnny, as the room filled with the sound of a howling wind and a brilliant, burning white light, separating him from the corpse at his feet and the coffin beneath his hands. "No, wait. Am I gonna see her again? Just tell me! Please!"


	11. Chapter 11

"Hardly anyone comes out this way," said the caretaker, flipping through the keys on his ring. "Except, you know, the occasional bum. All the old graves are out here. I keep the grass trimmed, and that's about it."

"But I thought this girl had died just recently." The engraver paused beside him, looking over the delicately sculpted ivy and roses on the mausoleum door. "Took me a month to make this plaque for her resting place."

"Oh, she did. Tragic, that. The mausoleum's been here since the turn of the century, though. Ah," he said, and, holding out his large keyring, he unlocked the massive metal door.

The keyring struck the marble floor as soon as sunlight spilled into the mausoleum. He knelt to pick it up, his hand shaking.

"Good Lord," said the engraver, crossing himself. "There's.. there's a dead man!"

"It's that chauffeur of theirs. The one they've been looking for. His picture was in the papers." The caretaker stepped into the tiny room, scowling. "Looks like he's only been dead a day or so..."

The engraver, still in the doorway, took a step back. "Around him.. are those.. bones?"

The caretaker nodded. Moving past the body curled beside the coffin, he knelt, picking up an urn. "Must've been trapped. There's water in this urn, so he'd been catching the rainwater.. and.." He placed one hand on the lip of the open coffin, staring at the rows of deep clawmarks along its edge, the chipped and broken edges of the lid on the floor. Something within the box caught his attention, and he reached in, eliciting a gasp of disgust from the engraver. He lifted from the coffin a stuffed doll of a skeleton, smeared with dried gore. "Pried the coffin open.. had to eat something.."

"Dear God." The engraver edged into the doorway, appalled. "But if he had water and.. uh.. food, then how did he die?"

Sighing, the caretaker set down the urn, and began to gather up the white, picked-clean bones scattered around the floor. "Probably formaldehyde poisoning. The embalming fluid, you know? What a way to go. Here, help me get these back into the box, would you? Then we'll go and call a mortician about this unfortunate young man."


	12. Author's Note

Greetings, boils and ghouls!

"Last Respects" is based on a story by the same name which appeared in EC's legendary "Tales from the Crypt" series, volume 1, #23, Apr - May 1951. I knew, right after reading it, that it would be perfect for Johnny and Operetta!

The last name "Destler" is borrowed from Robert Englund's role as the Phantom, Erik Destler, in "Phantom of the Opera" (1989).

The last name "Esprit" is French, pronounced "es-PREE". In English usage, it means "lively, witty, vivacious", but its literal translation means "spirit".

Now, if you don't mind, an epilogue of sorts.

Consider how alone and terrified Johnny must have felt, discovering the mausoleum door was locked, coming to the conclusion that his only chance at survival meant devouring the remains of his beloved.

Then, after his death, he is locked in a detention hall beneath Monster High. Totally alone, unable to record the passage of time, replaying his crimes in his head over and over again. Consumed, like all ghosts, with memories and appetites he cannot rationalize or act upon. Wondering if he'll ever see Retta again, if he'll ever be able to ask her forgiveness, or if his last memories of her will be the poisonous taste of her flesh.

And then, in their reunion, realizing she doesn't remember him at all.. doesn't remember a time before she herself was a phantom.

Do you think he'd tell her? Or would that secret stay within him, silent, eating away at him.. like poison.. forever?

Pleasant screams!

~ Chromatoast


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